May the Wonder Never Cease

I’m pretty sure everything others and I see are ordinary, but we manage to make them extraordinary because we feel like we’ve been honored with gifts when we notice them. And so it has happened that in the last three days I’ve had the opportunity to notice some rather mundane sights.

First, there was the Solitary Sandpiper foraging for insects in a kettle bog. I was with six others and we weren’t exactly silent as we stood by the muddy margin of the water, and yet the bird never acknowledged our presence, but we were certainly in awe of its company.

In that same space a Catbird crying its meow calls also foraged and our eyes flickered from one to the other as we tried to keep track of their movements.

It wasn’t just “our” feathered friends who garnered our attention for we love mud and happened to be standing in some and what’s mud without mammal prints? As in . . . Black Bear prints.

Indeed. We even took time to measure the straddle or distance from the outside of the hind print on the left-hand side of Ursus Americanus’ body to the far side of its front foot print–about 20 centimeters in total. Also in the corridor, prints of raccoons a many, and a fox.

Though bears and raccoons and foxes may all be omnivores, taking advantage of whatever meal might be available in the moment, there were a few carnivores in the mix–including the most beautiful of all: Pitcher Plants with their tree of life decorated pitcher-style leaves.

One more carnivore who had somehow survived being consumed by a bird or another member of the Odonata family also honored us–in its last moments of life: a Sedge Darner Dragonfly.

We studied its markings on both abdomen and face, which helped in identification, and then watched as it cocked its head and let forth one last sigh. We were there for it in the moment and now it rests upon my desk.

If that wasn’t enough, the next day three of us walked another large swath of land in the same vicinity and one among us with a keen eye spotted this little gem upon a Bracken Fern. (Thanks M.Y.) The baby Gray Tree Frog was not larger than a Spring Peeper and it struck us that it was a wee bit cold as the morning had dawned and indeed when we passed by again an hour and a half later, it was still in the same position, though as we approached we did notice it move, so we knew it had more life in it than the Sedge Darner.

In the same woodland, we spied a Hermit Thrush, who made itself know not by its melodic song that we enjoyed for much of the summer, but rather by its behavior as it stood upon the stump and then darted to the ground as it foraged before hopping back on the stump. These swaths of land–how important they are to support all of this wildlife that needs each other to survive. And us to notice so that we don’t go crazy and alter the land so much that they lose their habitat.

Today, the offerings continued. And in the midst of some important information being shared about a conserved property, a wee Painted Turtle was spotted. The acorns offered a certain sense of size.

You know how puppies seem to need to grow into their paws? That’s how I felt about this turtle. Not only did it have to grow into its feet and claws, but also its head. And then there was the attitude as exhibited on its face, though that may have had something to do with the fact that a bunch of us were in its space and we tried once or twice to reroute it, but it had its own idea of a mission and really, who are we to tell it where to go?

One might think that all of that was enough. But . . . was it? Well, in another space that is a private property under conservation easement, a metallic Oil Blister Bug made itself known.

It’s not one known to fly and if you take a closer look, you’ll note that its wings are rather limited given its overall size. But that color. Oh my!

The crème de la crème, however, may not be the clearest photo, but it was the coolest find of all: a black Eastern Chipmunk. One other and I had been listening to a Barred Owl call when we heard the sound of scampering nearby.

I’ve been receiving reports of the black chipmunk’s existence in the area the past few weeks, but was still totally surprised to make its acquaintance at least a half mile or more away from where others had seen one. Is there more than one?

As I understand it, the black color is caused by too much of the pigment melanin, which with elevated amounts results in dark skin, feathers, scales, or in this case, fur.

From the ordinary to the extraordinary, may the wonders never cease.

A Spider’s Feast

In the changing light of the early afternoon, I began chasing male Autumn Meadowhawk dragonflies. That’s no surprise, I’m sure.

But what did surprise me was that I didn’t notice any females. And that reminded me of the Calico Pennants, for in the early summer it was the males of that species that I spotted most often. Where were the females?

Perhaps mating was no longer on the minds of the meadowhawks and given the cooler temp of the day, I could convince one to climb upon my finger to gain some warmth.

And so it did . . . until in a flash, it flew off. In pursuit of what? I didn’t know.

And so I turned my attention to a Mottled Grasshopper, also known as a Pine Tree Spur-throated Grasshopper, or more scientifically Melanoplus punctulatus. Had it been on a tree, I might have missed spying it, but upon the rock it posed thus allowing me to spend some time in admiration. Ah, the eyes. Two segmented antennae. Those teeny, tiny feet that support such a large body. And that body suited in armor. Its colors and patterns reflecting an artistic creator. Lest I get carried away, I moved on in search of more dragonflies.

And suddenly I spotted a canoodling pair that flew past me and landed on an oak tree, where their bodies formed the mating circle. But again, just as they’d flown in, off they went in tandem, toward the pond so he could make sure it was his sperm that fertilized the eggs she deposited along the shoreline.

What was I to do? Why, look around, of course. And that’s when I spotted a huge orbweaver in action as it dangled from the camp shed.

I was immediately mesmerized as I realized it was a grasshopper that must have climbed the building and become ensnared. The red squirrel above me was not as enchanted with my presence and so he scolded.

Looking up into the white pine, I searched for the branch upon which he sat.

It took a moment for he was rather high up in the tree, but at last I spied the chatterbox.

But my main focus was on the feast waiting to happen. First it had to be wrapped.

I’ve seen wrapped insects in webs before, but I what I found most fascinating about this one was the size of the predator and its prey. The spider was hardly daunted.

From different angles, I tried to gain a better understanding. Not only was the wrap so intriguing, but have you ever wondered how such a large spider can dangle upside down, held only by thin threads of silk? Then again, have you ever broken through a spider web? Some are mighty strong and sticky.

While that action continued on the front of the shed, I looked to the side to see if there was any evidence of an old feast. None was evident, but I did see another grasshopper heading toward the roof line.

And then it turned . . . toward the front of the building. A wrong turn?

Indeed. Slowly it advanced . . . until it encountered an entanglement and realized its poor choice of direction.

With care, it retreated.

And so I returned to the front of the shed to check on the action where the well wrapped meal could have been mistaken for a small fish.

Orbweavers typically bite their prey to kill them, then wrap their meals in silk for later consumption. Really wrap. I watched for well over an hour and then headed off for a hike with my guy.

Just before leaving I glimpsed at the side where the live grasshopper had tried to escape. In the moment, it was a success story for I didn’t see it anywhere.

Upon returning three hours later, I immediately checked upon my friend. Wait. Did I just call this incredibly huge, hairy/spiny arachnid “my friend”? I do suffer like many from arachnophobia, but at the same time, their structures and behaviors garner my awe.

As for the wrapped grasshopper, I guess you could say it was “toast.” The spider had turned and it appeared that meal was being consumed.

I looked for crumbs this morning, but found nary a morsel. Somewhere there may be a small ball of indigestible parts on the ground that I overlooked. Even the web had been destroyed, which is typical spider behavior–consume the silk as morning approaches, thus reabsorbing any moisture used in its construction, as well as the dew. Perhaps it’s like a sip of juice to help with digestion.

A meal of toast and juice–a spider’s feast.

In-DEED Day

Down by the brook,

in a place I’ve determined is the Secret Garden,

Daddy Longlegs, aka Harvestmen, do roam.

Those who are diurnal in nature, dehydrate easily.

Detecting light intensity with two eyes, they don’t see images, but rather rely upon other senses to locate prey.

Distinguished by black antennae banded with white, an ichnuemon wasp hunted below a Royal Fern that offered contrasting colors.

Flying and landing, flying and landing, was a tiny dragonfly known locally as an Autumn Meadowhawk, so denoted by its legs of brown.

And dangling below a goldenrod, an assassin bug searching for a meal.

Another dangler was the discarded exuviae of a Dog-day Cicada, who’s buzzy love song filled the daylight hours.

Before I left the garden, I noted one more harvestman on the downward side of Pearly Everlasting.

Filled with insects and spiders as any garden should be, the secret one was brought to us by the letter D as defined by a curled fern frond.

In–DEED. To-DAY.

Insect Brigadoon

So, um, we hiked today.

Along a favorite trail.

It offers a variety of terrain.

And opens to a wonderful view of the mountains to the west. This isn’t actually the summit of the mountain, but it’s close to the boundary line of land open to the public. The trail continues for another half mile and as we did in the spring, we followed it–hoping against hope and because someone told us it was true, that a loop around the top had been completed. Take it from us: that is false information. But still, we hiked six miles in three hours. And . . . those were the only photos I took. My guy was in as much disbelief as I was. To say we practically ran down the trail would be an understatement.

By contrast, and my guy laughs at this, yesterday a friend and I traveled a different route and covered three miles in five hours.

We were in the land of the Green Frogs . . . and wildflowers and birds and chipmunks and shrubs and trees, but our best finds of all were a couple of insects.

It all began with a seedhead we couldn’t recall meeting before. Who was this Cousin Itt? Turns out–a Roundhead Bushclover.

It also turns out that Western Conifer Seed Bugs (WCSB) had already made its acquaintance. We were certainly late to the party. But really, it was a clover species that was new to us. Apparently it’s high in protein and a preferred treat for wildlife–from mammals to insects.

As we looked, two other insects thought (can insects think?) they were hiding from our inquisitive eyes, but . . . we found them on the backside and quickly realized their backsides were connected.

In canoodle fashion they mated. Once we established that, we tried to determine their names. As I said to my companion, names don’t matter as much as the characteristics, but still, we agreed, we like to know upon whom we’ve focused our attention. And so our study began. Initially, the insect in the foreground reminded us of the WCSB, but there were subtle differences in color and structure. Their main food is seeds, which they pierce with their proboscis to drink the nutritious fluids contained within.

These bugs mainly inhabit fairly arid and sandy habitat and we were certainly in such at a place known as Goose Pasture. It also seemed to be the preferred habitat of the Round-Headed Bushclover.

Upon another clover we were intrigued by a creature that made us first think this: Ant. But . . . if we’ve learned nothing else in this darn pandemic, it’s to question the information presented. What looks like an ant but isn’t an ant? Why, an ant mimic, of course. Our takeaways: long horns or antennae; modified wings; and a butt that looks like a face, perhaps warning others to stay away?

If you look back at the canoodlers, you’ll notice this critter and the smaller mating insect are rather similar . ,. . because they are indeed one in the same in terms of species.

I was confounded as I often am with intriguing insects and so I reached out to my entemologist friend, Anthony. And . . . he confirmed my guesses. A Broad-headed Bug: Alydus eurinus.

In the same area, a teeny butterfly flew in to tap check the asters.

Her markings and coloration pointed toward the ID of a Northern Crescent. My wow moments included the black and white pattern of her antennae as well as her grayish green eyes that seemed almost as big as the Green Frogs–speaking relatively due to size, of course.

With her proboscis did she probe and I’m sure lots of nectar was sought. I am making a gender assumption for I don’t know for sure–the female is supposed to be larger and darker than the male. Without seeing two together, I couldn’t make a size reference but this one certainly had darker colors.

And I’d be remiss to dismiss the female White-faced Meadowhawk who followed us most of the way and has reached its peak flying season. There were other species to note, but they eluded my camera’s focus, so they’ll have to remain but a memory.

Today, my guy and I hiked up a mountain and reveled in the fact that the trail is so well constructed that one hardly feels like one is climbing higher and higher.

But yesterday offered a taste of Brigadoon and for the Broad-headed Bugs perhaps it was just that. It often feels that way to me.

Crowning Glory

The theme of the week didn’t dawn on me immediately, but a few days into it and I knew how blessed I am.

It all began when this young man and I went on a treasure hunt Tuesday afternoon. I didn’t actually take this photo Tuesday because our focus was so much on the leaf litter at our feet that I forgot to pay attention to anything else. We were hunting for a rare plant and had been given a circle on a map to consider. We knew we were in the right place. But still it evaded us.

There were others to admire, however, such as the upturned form of the fertilized Indian Pipes. and Rhyan Paquereau, Greater Lovell Land Trust’s new Land Steward, and I didn’t really mind that we couldn’t spot the plant of our attention because we enjoyed the quest. As well as the opportunity to explore off trail together. I gave thanks that I get to work with this young man and learn from and bounce off of him about the wonders of the natural world.

A day or two later I headed out to the same property with docent Parker Veitch, who also happens to own White Mountain Mushrooms. He was the one who’d noticed the plant and drawn the circle on the map. Again, it was into a beech/oak/hemlock forest that we hiked and focused upon leaf-filled depressions.

Exactly where Rhyan and I had tramped previously, Parker showed me the plant of intention and I realized the mistake we’d made previously. I hadn’t paid complete attention to Parker’s note and the wee structure was no longer in flower, but had gone to seed. It was a lesson learned. As often happens, once my eyes and mind understood the location and features, it was everywhere. But wait, Three Birds Orchid, Triphora trianthophora, is listed as S2 in Maine: Imperiled in Maine because of rarity (6-20 occurrences or few remaining individuals or acres) or because of other factors making it vulnerable to further decline.

FMI: https://www.maine.gov/dacf/mnap/features/tritri.htm

As good as the find was, however, and we found more Three Birds than we could count, was a chance to spend time hiking and talking with this young man. Not only did we catch up for we hadn’t had an opportunity to share the trail in a while, but also to ponder questions such as what are the characteristics of an old growth forest. We looked at the canopy, saplings, and ground. The land hadn’t been cut as far as we could tell for there were no stumps. But when we tried our best to age the trees, we realized there is so much more for us to understand.

And then there were glacial erratics thrown into the mix and we knew we were in over our heads.

That didn’t stop us from appreciating their place in the forest. Or . . . the forest’s place upon the rock island.

One of our final discoveries before departing was a Beech Drop that had twisted and turned and grown into a downed branch. I gave thanks that I got to hike with this young man and learn from and bounce off of him about the wonders of the natural world.

Later that same day I met with this group, Dan, Jon, and Mary, all members of Bridgton’s Pondicherry Park Stewardship Committee. We walked the trails, made a few tweaks, considered some issues, and once again I gave thanks for these were three more young people in my world who care about and for the natural world.

And then today dawned. Like icing on the cake, or Witherod fruits upon the leaf, it was one I looked forward to for I’d been honored to receive an invite to help a young naturalist celebrate her birthday. She asked two of us to join her this morning and we were both tickled for the opportunity.

Her eyes, like those of Rhyan and Parker and Dan and Jon and Mary, are big and constantly seeking.

Like them, she knows that her wings may get tattered, but . . .

that will never stop her need to gain more knowledge, much like the Silver-bordered Fritillary sought nectar.

Other times, she’ll take on the attitude of a Katydid and just do it, whatever “it” might be–as it relates to the natural world.

She knows that sometimes there will be hangups just when she thought she had life figured out.

But always I suspect she’ll seek creative and colorful solutions.

At the end of the day, she may feel like she’s dangling by a spider’s thread because sometimes that happens.

But always, there should be Bullfrog and Green Frogs in her mind’s eye and memories of them running across lily pads to view like reruns any time life drags her down. Oh, and a Ruffed Grouse that refused to be photographed.

Today was the day that Alanna and I were invited to join another and so we joined together and wove a head wreath and a talking stick as memories.

And celebrated this young woman, Hadley.

Before we departed, the three Musketeers posed for a photograph in honor of Hadley’s birthday. But really, as I know she’ll appreciate, this week was more than celebrating Hadley.

It was a week for me to realize how important all the young people in my life mean, from our sons whom I can chat with on the phone to those who have chosen to make this area of western Maine their home and to get to know their place in it. And then to go beyond and share it in a way that benefits the wider community.

Thank you, Hadley, for the opportunity to celebrate your birthday. And thank you Rhyan, Parker, Dan, Jon, Mary, Brent (whom I didn’t get to photograph), and Alanna: it’s my utmost pleasure to share the trail with you whenever we can. And to know that the future is in your capable hands.

Likewise, I don’t mean to snub Erika, Pam and Bob K, David P, Basil D, and Susan W, with whom I’ve also shared the natural world this week, but I know that you all also appreciate all these young people.

We are all blessed. Today we crowed Hadley, and in so doing, gloried so many others.

Prowling for Pollinators . . .

So maybe this morning wasn’t the best choice to go searching for pollinators since the temp was in the 50˚s and delightfully so. Crisp air. Blue sky. Autumn Teaser. What’s not to love?

But search I did. I suspected most of those I sought were sleeping within the flower petals or had found some other warm spot to spend the night and early hours of the day.

One well wrapped and ready for the next season was a native young Hickory Tussock Caterpillar. Do you see the detached hairs above it on the yet unmunched half of the Sweet-fern leaf? In a way, tussocks remind me of porcupines for their hairs are barbed like a porky’s quills and can easily detach.

Though most that I’ve been seeing are about one inch long, I discovered one that was at least three inches and perhaps considering using the hairs to spin a cocoon.

Recently friends and I commented that we hadn’t seen many of these caterpillars this year and then we recalled that last year’s prolific sightings occurred late summer/early fall. The good news is this: though they defoliate many tree species including but not limited to hickories, they do so at a time when the trees are preparing to shut down and so no overall harm seems to be done. And being native, they are subject to natural enemies so we can only hope that this year’s prevalence is much lower.

Mind you, as the morning progressed, there were a few pollinators on the move including this tiny hoverfly upon an aster. Though they don’t have pollen baskets and can’t carry as much pollen as a bee might, hoverflies visit so many flowers that they are seen as pollinator champions.

As my search continued, I stumbled upon a female Katydid walking along a wooden fence. Katydids’ antennae are long (as in at least the length of the body) and thin, thus differentiating them from their grasshopper cousins.

Another way to identify one is the camouflaged leafy structure of their wings, much resembling the veined foliage upon which they spend their time dining. And this one–a female, so proclaimed because of its thick, upwardly curved ovipositor (egg-laying structure).

Under the same fence post, a grasshopper did rest, its antennae much shorter.

What surprised me most as I explored one place and then another and another: the variety of dragonflies that still did fly. I’m rather partial to a few, including this male Pondhawk Darner with its greenish face and white claspers. If only his gal had been around, they would have made a handsome couple.

In another spot a Paper Wasp paused. Watch its hind legs.

Ever so slowly . . .

it practiced . . .

Edward Scissorhands moves. Paper Wasps are pollinators and I had to wonder if it was transferring some pollen on its legs in wasp-ballet style.

Finding a few pollinators and other insects was fun, but the creme de la creme of this morning’s expedition was time spent with so many Autumn Meadowhawks who shared every trail I walked.

Not only do Autumn Meadowhawks have yellowish legs, but their coloration matches the newly formed American Beech buds, making their timing seem serendipitous.

Being a coolish morning, I thought I might entice at least one upon my hand for they seek heat. These are wee dragons as you can see by the size of this female.

I swear she smiled at me. I smiled back.

While prowling for pollinators . . . I made some great finds and my morning search was well rewarded.

Goldenrod Gala

As many of you know, I’ve never been a party girl, much preferring to hide in the wings and be the wallflower at the edge of the crowd, but when the invite arrived today, how could I resist?

It didn’t give an actual location, but by the photo I suspected I knew where in the yard would I meet my friends.

Immediately upon entering, I wished I’d waited a bit for the Ambush Bugs had already discovered each other and chose the corner I preferred as their hide-away spot in which to mate. Really, shouldn’t they have gotten a room?

At last, however, I discovered others who like me were solo for the party, this being a Mason Wasp. His eye was on the bar and nectar was the drink of choice.

While I inquired about something to sip upon, into the middle of the space danced a pair of Thread-waisted Wasps. She seemed rather oblivious to his advances.

They maneuvered this way . . .

and that. No matter which way they swayed, he clung on.

At times I wondered if she really appreciated his clingy mannersim.

At best, she seemed to tolerate him. But never did she let him get any closer.

For over an hour, we all watched from the edges as they sashayed back and forth across the dance floor. Maybe he clung so close because he hoped to get lucky in the near future, or maybe they’d already finished canoodling and he wanted to make sure that it was eggs he’d fertilized that she laid, much the way male dragonflies hold on until the female of their intentions do the same.

Meanwhile, back in the corner, the Ambush Bugs began to separate as he climbed down off of her. And below them, another insect that might become their choice at the buffet table lingered.

Finding a stem all its own upon which to practice its own dance steps was a Locust Borer decked out in fancy dress clothes.

Also dressed to the nines was a Flesh Fly wearing gray pin stripes.

As the party continued, I soon realized that the Mason Wasp was a tease.

Or so it seemed as its antennae played with a shy Crab Spider waiting under the buffet for a morsel upon which to dine.

I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the spider–who was certain it was about to score, only to discover it had been outsmarted. But that’s the way it is in these social affairs as a variety of personalities come together to greet each other and yet satisfy their own needs.

At last the hour had chimed and it was time for all of us to depart. As I stepped through the doorway, a final greeting was bestowed . . . by an Assassin Bug Nymph completely camouflaged by the flower’s greenery.

With that, my visit to the two-hour Goldenrod Gala was completed and I gave thanks for the invite to such a pop-up event. A social gathering of my type, indeed.

What the House Wren Pronounced

They’re said to be uncommon in our area, but in the past few weeks I’ve twice had the opportunity to spot a House Wren. And truly, that word “uncommon” strikes me the same way as “common.” My guy sometimes refers to me as “uncommon,” but really . . . I’m just plain common.

Still, the wren foretold the insects to come because so many are part of its diet.

And its habitat, one full of fields and forest beyond.

Such a forest includes Purple Milkwort, a teeny, tiny flower with a structure that reminds me of Origami folds, yet so easy to overlook for its location so close to the ground.

Equally small in relationship to the landscape, the suddenly prolific juvenile Autumn Meadowhawks, their yellow legs a sure giveaway to their “common” name.

Short-horned grasshoppers were also among the mix, which included so many grasshoppers with every step. Curiously, some found a new split-rail fence to be much to their liking.

Today’s path led to a spur trail into an old quarry that possibly supported mill sites built downstream, including a former woolen mill. It was a place where the past begged an honor.

And the present offered new learnings. On the left: the underside of Bear or Scrub Oak; and the right: Northern Red Oak. Notice how the former is not only whiter, but smaller in structure. Both, however, feature bristled lobes.

The cones of the Bear Oak were much smaller than the Red, and in their present form still bespoke the flowers from which they’d formed.

Added into the mixed forest were a couple of saplings of White Oak, another species not so “common” to the setting.

One spot combined two more common sightings–a White Pine cone having been consumed by a Red Squirrel who probably sat upon a branch of the pine tree above to devour the seeds tucked within each scale and discarded said scales below while turning the cone much the way we eat an ear of corn and finally dropping the leftover cob which landed upon a Red Oak.

In this same forest setting, Striped Maples showed off their dangling lanterns of samaras, dimpled on one side and robust on the other.

Upon the trunk of another Striped Maple a grasshopper practiced its best camouflage, but . . . it was seen.

At another section of trail where the wildflowers grew, the Ambush Bugs waited for prey upon which to dine.

Activity upon the wildflowers was abundant and include this stink bug: Stiretrus anchorago.

Ants were very much a part of the scene, giving rise to the sweet factor the Meadowsweet flowers offered.

And when one is looking, one discovers others who try to secretly travel through the landscape, such as the Western Conifer Seed Bug Nymph.

Curiously, a “common” Harvestman Daddy Long Legs showed off a display of Red Mites.

But, one of the coolest dudes in the neighborhood was a Tachnid Fly, its dark oval eyes and bristly oversized body a giveaway. Tachnid flies are considered beneficial because they dine on lots of other insects including sawflies, borers, and green stink bugs, plus tent caterpillars, cabbage loopers, and gypsy moth larvae.

As had been the manner at the beginning of the hike, so it was at the end with band-winged grasshoppers displaying their armored forms upon the split-fence posts.

Hidden among the pine needles, molts of grasshopper species showed off their exoskeletons.

In the midst of all who followed the trail, Sedge Darners flew and landed and dined and flew some more.

The question remained: How much did the House Wren pronounce? A lot for as it knew, there was much to see and understand. But really, it probably pronounced so much more to be considered in the future.

Glee on Zle Mondate

I suggested this mountain to my guy the night before last. But yesterday morning I wasn’t sure I wanted to drive to it and so I offered two other possibilities much closer to home, including the one in our backyard. The original choice, however, still resonated with him because . . . there might be a pie involved. We could only hope.

We certainly found berries, though most weren’t meant for our pie, unless, of course, we were of the avian or mammal sort. This one the fruit of a Stinking Benjamin.

Along some parts of the trail Mountain Holly’s raspberry red berries mixed with the smell of the surrounding fir trees made us feel as if we’d stepped into the Christmas aisle.

The reds were delightful, but my favorite of all, the porcelain blue of Bluebead Lily, aka Clintonia. To think that its yellow spring flower transforms into this brilliant blue fruit astonishes me each time I have a chance encounter with it. Chance because as was the case along most of the trail, the berries had been consumed. Not edible to us, but obviously there are those who can enjoy the feast.

We could have eaten a Creeping Snowberry or two, but again, it’s always such a surprise to see these fruits that we left them for the animals to bake into their own dessert of choice.

For a long way, the trail passes through mixed woods but as we climbed higher the natural community gradually changed and soon we were among the evergreens, where a break offered a sampling of the view to come.

Staying out of view was a shy garter snake.

Until we reached the bald ledges, much of our vision was consumed by the forest floor for we had to pay attention to the exposed roots and rocks that thousands of others had trodden, knowing that somewhere in the midst we’d left our prints previously.

At times boulders bordered the trail in the form of enormous outcrops and I kept expecting to see a bobcat hiding within, but no such luck.

At last we reached the summit and took in the panoramic view. And rejoiced in the day, the opportunity to hike and encounter few others, and especially the temperature for it was really quite comfortable.

Beside the cairn we found lunch rock and . . . lunched. (Is that a verb?)

And then I began to poke around. I really wanted to get a photo of the dragonflies that kept zooming past and the butterflies who fluttered nearby but never paused. Instead, a White-spotted Sawyer flew in and took up a few minutes of my time.

That is until a hawk’s shadow drew our attention to the sky.

It suddenly turned and flew straight at us. I thought I was taking the most spectacular photograph just before I dove for cover. Apparently I missed that photo op but it will remain forever in our minds’ eyes . . . and we think it was a Goshawk based on its colors and behavior. That said, it was time for us to skedaddle.

And so we began our descent, choosing to make the loop that tried to allude us the first time we ever climbed this mountain. Now we know where to look for it, but if you go, know to keep searching for the cairns at the summit because otherwise there are a lot of false paths. Well, they aren’t actually false for they do exist, but they won’t lead you down the “easy” way.

Knowing that I was bummed not to snap a shot of the dragonflies at the top, my guy stopped when we encountered them again in sunny spots along the trail. No, he wasn’t saying “Peace be with you,” but rather he hoped to be a dragonfly whisperer. They’d have none of it, though they flew at us and over us and we repeatedly thanked them because we’ve been in this place when the biting bugs think we’re meant to be the feast.

At long last, my guy spotted this guy dangling as the darner family does. You might also find one resting upon a tree trunk. The lighting wasn’t right for me to make a precise identification because I couldn’t see the markings on its face and thorax, but still . . . I got my dragonfly and was happy.

Further along he pointed to scat and I said, “Weasel.” It was right beside a small critter hole and I suspected it had feasted upon the residents within.

To follow the loop takes a lot longer than had we chosen to descend the way we’d climbed up; but eventually we were back on the main trail where we’d completely missed this sign-in rock. We chose not to sign in or out and tried our best to leave no trace.

We took only photos, including a selfie as we ascended.

And though there were blueberries here and there along the trail and I suspect some of you expected us to pick and me to bake (LOL), we only sampled a few because on our way we’d stopped at the roadside bakery and made a selection, not wanting to take a chance that upon our return the shelves would be empty.

Our choice de resistance and reward for completing an over nine-mile hike: Blueberry Cherry Pie.

Indeed Glee upon Zle Mountain Mondate.

P.S. All along we talked about this pie and fully expected to dig in last night, but ended up eating too late because we had chores to do at home and it’s on the counter right now and I hope the grand moment will follow lunch today. That or we’ll just savor the sight of it for a while and remember that we love hiking that mountain because it offers such variety . . . and pie.

Frog Alley

I’m pretty sure I said to the friend whom I met on the dirt road that I never see frogs there except for the painted boulder that has faded with age and I no longer even think to honor with a photograph.

But still, she reminded me, “I’m sure we’ll see something interesting.”

No way.

After walking one stretch of the road and only pausing a few times in the hot sun, we hopped back into our vehicles and made our way to a much more shaded location. As we stepped toward the river, in flew a Kingfisher. And we knew we were in for a treat or two or three . . .

But first, we had to explore the structure that has spanned the river for 163 years: Hemlock Covered Bridge. My friend is a history buff and I’m a wanna-be so it was apropos that we should take our time as we walked across–pausing to look and wonder as frequently as when we’re on a path.

I first saw this relic of the past years ago when I canoed up the Old Course of the Saco River with a group of tweens whom I took on weekly adventures when my summer job was as Laconia YMCA’s Summer Camp Director. In those days, one could get permission to camp by the bridge. Things have changed and that land is now posted with No Trespassing signs.

The bridge is a woodworking masterpiece and a symbol of the pioneering spirit of the 19th Century. In this 21st Century, there are others who also have a pioneering spirit and create their own masterpieces within.

Built of Paddleford truss construction with supporting laminated wooden arches, Hemlock Bridge is one of the few remaining covered bridges still in its original position. Peter Paddleford of Littleton, New Hampshire, created this design by replacing the counter braces of the Long-style truss bridge, creating an unusually strong and rigid structure.

Though reinforced in 1988 so you can still drive across, it’s more fun to walk. As we did we took time to admire the work of our forefathers,

peer at the river,

and read the carved messages on Maine’s oldest remaining covered bridge.

It was designated as a Maine Historic Civil Engineering Landmark by the American Society of Civil Engineers on January 17, 2002. I’m not sure what happened in 1922, but obviously it was another date to note.

Originally there were 120 covered bridges which spanned rivers throughout Maine. Covers or houses were constructed to protect the wooden span from the weather.

They were also places where travelers and animals could seek refuge from a storm, or lovers could sneak a kiss. Six of the remaining nine in Maine are located in the Lakes and Mountains Region.

We admired every facet of the bridge for moments on end, and then made our way to the river’s edge, where Slaty Blue Skimmers continued to dance. But as is their habit, this one kept landing on the same broken branch. Eventually, I coaxed it onto my finger, but then a sweetheart zipped by and he was off, hoping to sneak a kiss of his own making.

Next, our attention focused on a bullfrog. A huge bullfrog.

Two little Green Frogs were focused on the same and remained as still as possible in hopes of not attracting Mrs. Bully’s attention.

She at last began to move and her forward motion was slower than either of us have ever witnessed. We watched as she slithered forth one frog leg length at a time.

At last she reached a destination and paused. Was she hiding from us? Had she slithered like a snake in hopes we wouldn’t see her? Or did she have her eyes on a meal?

We’ll never know for a rare treat suddenly flew onto the branch where Slaty Blue had posed time and again. Meet a Dragonhunter. This huge clubtail dragonfly is known to eat butterflies and even other dragonflies. Thank goodness Slaty Blue had moved on.

Suddenly it was time for us to move on as well, but not before spying one more frog–this one a small Pickerel with sets of dark rectangles decorating its coppery-colored body.

With that, before my friend and I bid adieu, I had to eat my words that there are no frogs on Frog Alley. But technically, we weren’t on Frog Alley, but rather Hemlock Bridge Road. Still, the two are connected and we gave thanks for the chance to honor the past and wonder about the present in this locale.

P.M. Gathering

A friend and I met this afternoon and ventured forth upon a path that was quite different from those we usually travel. Our finds began as soon as we stepped out of our vehicles.

First there was the White Admiral Butterfly, preparing to puddle with its straw-like proboscis, at the moment curled but ready to extend into the gravely parking area to search for nutrients he might share with a gal.

And after only a few minutes into the woodland habitat, as is its preference, a Northern Pearly-eyed Butterfly fluttered into the scene, and posed–also with its proboscis curled.

Keen eyes of my friend spotted the next mention of wildlife–that of a very young garter snake who slithered across our path and then found a stick upon which to blend into the scene.

There was so much to see, such as a giant burl upon a White Cedar, its growth a consequence of an injury, virus, or fungus, creating a vase-like base enhanced by the tree’s shaggy-lined bark.

The tree’s leaves were as interesting as the bark with scaly leaves offering another texture to the forest.

Occasionally, as we continued, we stumbled upon Indian Pipes in their clustered colonies. Though some were just emerging and had their single flowers dangling low, many had been fertilized and showed off a dash of maturity with upright flowers. Eventually a woody structure filled with dust-like seeds will be produced, though it is doubtful many will germinate and grow into these most interesting plants that lack chlorophyll and depend upon a fungus and tree root to survive. And yet they will.

In the midst of it all, an Eastern Wood-Pewee, Raven, and Bluejays considered our attention and as we practiced using the Merlin App for bird identification, two little brown things flitted here and there. Turns out they were House Wrens with their upright tail feathers and barbed wings, an exciting find for us.

That was, until we met a fungus we couldn’t identify, but could certainly appreciate for its formation upon a couple of Balsam Firs.

It poured forth out of the tree like pancake batter on a Sunday morning.

Further along, where the red and gray squirrels made sure to announce their presence, a lone chipmunk posed for moments on end and so we all stood still, thinking at first its cheeks were full, but then realizing it had elbows reminiscent of favorite aunts’ flabby arms. OK, so maybe we’ve reached that age when such flabbiness gathers despite our efforts to exercise and we’re now trying to find ways to laugh about such features. .

There was so much more to see, including a Purple-fringed Orchid,

Arrowhead flower,

and Joe Pye-weed topped with a green iridescent sweat bee.

Our journey was almost over when we spotted a bluet damselfly dining upon a crab spider,

and a Ruby Meadowhawk dragonfly with its straw-colored face pausing upon a boardwalk.

Said boardwalk offered the most abundant selection of species, but there was still more to accumulate on this long weekend. And my friend knew that though our time together had been special, there was still more to rejoice in.

You see, our youngest son and his gal had ventured north from New York City because they could.

And their smiles filled our souls as they took in the sights and sounds and smells of our most delightful western Maine locale.

Eventually, they honored us by preparing a meal, and chuckled as they worked for she slaved over a large pan while he managed the smallest of the collection.

Several times we sat around our new kitchen table, grateful to those who had created it, the dishes and food upon it, and those who at last could gather round it as we’d intended.

Thank you P and M, for heading north from the Big Apple, enjoying the fresh air, sharing talents and gifts and laughter, and just being YOU. And thank you, P.M. for sharing the trail and appreciating the gathering that was happening in our midst.

Pleasant Web Wanderings

Meeting at a local ski area, my friend followed me and we found our way to the boat launch located on a pond in the shadows of a certain mountain.

After riding the waves of jet skis and other boats, we paddled into quiet wetlands where stump islands radiated beauty in their death.

Not long into our journey among the slower flow of water, dragonflies became the focus, at least from my perspective, and it seemed apropos that one Slaty Blue Skimmer should serve as the helmsman of my kayak.

We moved among shadows and shallows and delighted in the sounds and sights.

Soon another mate joined the crew, this a female Frosted White-face who rested momentarily before being pursued by a suitor.

Her sweetheart sailed in and out and occasionally paused. A closer look at the underside of his abdomen showed tiny red mites found a place of their own upon which to rest.

In the midst of frequent sightings of Slaty Blues and Frosted Whitefaces, a not so Common Eastern Pondhawk in the form of a female paused, her beauty deserving celebration.

Not all celebrations needed to be about dragonflies, though I do think they are pretty darn special–if you haven’t already figured that out. Therefore, I offer you an Eastern Tiger Swallowtail feasting upon the flower of a Buttonbush, its fringe of pistils bursting forth as if part of the butterfly’s body.

When one floats nonchalantly in such a wetland, life of all forms take shape. Much of it is too difficult to classify for the scene is ever changing, but sometimes it’s subtle idiosyncrasies that make a name known. Such was the case for the male Spangled Skimmer, its black and white stigmas at the tip of the wings a certain marking known only to its species.

While we watched, a female Mallard and her young’en preened and we got to thinking–why only these two? Where was the rest of the family? Had dad taken the other kids off for a Sunday picnic while mom and runt stayed behind for a mother/junior playdate?

Eventually, we left that wetland behind and paddled on to another, discovering an active wasp nest mere feet above the water.

And then we slipped into that other wetland where layers marked the landscape.

At the base, a Pitcher Plant showing off its Tree of Life logo with red venation highlighted by green.

“Come inside,” invited the Pitcher’s leaves modified into insect traps with hairs directing the downward path.

Resist if you can, but I’m not sure how one can deny the incredible design of this most interesting plant’s leaves.

And then there’s its flower: It begins with five somewhat pointed sepals, their tips incurving. The sepals are generally tinged with dark red or red-purple on the outside and yellow on the inside that curve around a yellowish-green style, which expands into an umbrella-like structure, sometimes splashed with deep red.

In the midst of the Pitchers, Sundews and Sphagnums showed off their cherry view.

And then a beaver lodge came into view, reflecting the mountain summit behind it.

Upon closer look it became obvious that it was active and in the moment the residents perhaps took a Sunday siesta.

As we floated, so many others flew and occasionally paused including a male Eastern Pondhawk with its face so green.

Before finishing our adventure and paddling back to the boat launch, we encountered a predator feeding upon a predator, in this case a spider dining upon a clubtail dragonfly.

It was then that we realized that the quiet wetlands featuring stumps and other natural landmarks that radiated joy also knew the importance of death as a source of continuing the circle of life.

Today’s web wanderings in the shadow of one Pleasant Mountain: always a joy.

Resurrection

I warned you that last week’s Cemetery Cicada Celebration would be revised. And so it was. Over and over again as is my custom.

But the thing is that last week I took part in a poetry workshop offered through Greater Lovell Land Trust by Poet Judith Steinbergh. The title of the workshop was “Caring for Our Earth and Waters.” Judy shared various poems with us through a remote gathering and asked us to read them aloud while thinking “about what we might visualize from the images, and how the sounds and form blend together with the image and feeling.”

She encouraged us to make notes and suggested some different approaches: speak to the subject; become the subject; instruct the reader; show feelings toward the subject. She even gave us some beginnings and endings that might inspire us to begin.

And then she concluded with “Poetry Revision Guidelines,” which included such practices as reading the poem aloud several times, questioning whether or not the opening was strong enough, maintaining focus, creating images the reader could visualize, using tight language, finding a rhythm, helping the reader gain insight, and providing appropriate breaks.

We had one week to write a poem, submit it to Judy for comments, and then the big night would come: The Reading.

Just as it’s scary to publish in this blog manner or via Lake Living magazine and other avenues I’ve used over the years, it’s equally terrifying to read aloud–especially when you can see yourself on the computer screen.

But that’s what some of us did the other night for the remote Poetry Reading and you can watch and listen in: GLLT Poetry Reading 2020

My original subject was a pine tree, but after watching the magical emergence of cicadas last week, I knew I had to write about that experience. Figuring out the angle was much more difficult and I tried a variety of avenues. In the end, I chose a style that works best for me, teaching through imagery.

It’s not a done deal, mind you, for it is my belief that there is no such thing as a final draft. OK, so that’s my default in case you don’t think this works or have suggestions to improve my attempt. All comments are welcome. It’s only a draft and I haven’t written 18 drafts yet as I often do with an article. I’m at 7 or 8.

Resurrection
By Leigh Macmillen Hayes, 7/19/2020

To walk into a cemetery on a summer day
And find an insect metamorphosing upon a stone
I begin to understand the process of resurrection.

A life well spent questing sap for sustenance
Prepares to crawl free of its past
And reach for heavenly aspirations.

Through a tiny slit, a spirit no longer contained
Emerges head first as a teneral shape develops
with bulging eyes to view a new world.

Gradually, a pale tourmaline-colored body extends outward
With stained-glass wings unfurling
That provide baby steps toward freedom beyond.

I mourn the loss of your former soul
But give thanks for a peek at your upcoming ascension
From this place to the next.

It is not for me to know when you will first use the gift of flight
As I didn’t know when you would shed your old skin,
And I quickly offer a final goodbye when I see your wings spread.

I rejoice that I’ll spend the rest of the summer
Listening to your raspy love songs
Playing nature’s lullabies upon violin strings from above.

On this day, I celebrate the secrets of a cicada’s life,
Dying to the old ways and rising to new,
While I wander among the graves of others who have done the same.

To all who joined the Poetry Workshop or the Poetry Reading or wished they could, and especially to Judy Steinbergh, I dedicate this post. Thank you for sharing.

Our Happy Place Mondate

Imagine our joy. Imagine our smiles that showed our joy.

We’d considered a hike for this Mondate, but awaking to another humid day put the damper on that.

How should we spend the day? What would make us both happy?

A paddle seemed the perfect solution.

And so off we headed into the deep blue sea. Or rather, deep blue pond. My guy sought another hue of deep blue. In the form of certain berries so named for their color.

I, on the other hand, sought others, such as this Lancet Clubtail dragonfly who returned to my dirty kayak over and over again–a sibling chasing him off in between.

As we explored the edges of islands, my guy searching for fulfillment of the containers he’d brought along, Swamp Spreadwing damselflies, their form so dainty, posed frequently to my liking.

Among the branches of my guy’s desire, webs had been created . . . and unfortunately for some spreadwings, canoodling acts were ended by the sticky structure created by others.

Despite that, those known as Familiar Bluets found a way to continue the circle of life through their heart-shaped wheel.

Slaty Blue dragonflies were not to be outdone and she clung to him from her lower position.

As all things go in the natural world, not every dragonfly nymph completed the transformation to adulthood and thus a few were left in suspended animation. This one, in particular, reflected the bent form of the Pickerel Weed upon which it wished to emerge. So what happened? Why was the plant stem bent? Why didn’t the dragonfly complete the cycle of life? I’ll never know, but it’s worth wondering about.

Every once in a while upon our journey, I remembered to let the entire scene fill my scope and summer fill my soul. Did my guy do the same? I kinda think so, but can’t say for sure.

After all, his focus was on little berries of blue, while I took in a few other things, like the teeny flowers of Spatulate-leaved Sundew. Such a dainty flower for a carnivorous plant.

And the there was the Tachnid fly on the Swamp Milkweed.

The flies weren’t the only ones pollinating the flowers.

With eyes so big, and waist so thin, it could only be one: a wasp. But not all wasps are to be feared and this Great Golden Digger proved it has much to offer the world.

Into the mix flew a female Red-winged Blackbird, her focus not at all upon her reflection, but rather food to feed her young.

Fortunately for her, the mister also searched and provided.

As my guy foraged, I continued to hunt. My form of hunting, however, embraced only photographs, such as a small Blue Dasher Skimmer upon a Yellow Pond Lily.

Who ever determined such wee ones with white faces, metallic eyes, bright thorax stripes, and a blue abdomen with black tip as common? For me, the Blue Dasher will always be worth a wonder.

That’s exactly what I did on this Mondate as a Lancet Clubtail whirled upon my hat much like a beanie copter. I wondered while I wandered.

My guy foraged and foraged some more.

And in the midst of it all, I met a dragonfly new to me this summer who is supposed to be common: a male Widow Skimmer.

What a day. What a Mondate. What a dragonfly. What a wonder. Our Happy Place. Indeed.

Celebrating Cemetery Cicadas

Beings who once walked the Earth
support new life as summer's serenade
begins to take shape 
upon stones that memorialize the past. 
Hunchbacked in nymphal form,
light brown crawlers move skyward
then cling by toes at tips of stout legs,
and new life emerges as their backs split open.
Bodies colored like watermelon tourmaline
showcase segmented abdomens and three pairs of legs.
While translucent wings slowly unfurl,
First steps are taken into freedom beyond. 
Leaving behind sheds of its underground life,
wings grow longer minute by minute.
Exquisite beauty at this teneral stage
forces awe to reach a crescendo.
Venation demarks cloudy glass windows
gilded in emerald and bronze.
I stare in awe, and then gaze about,
for others have also crawled up from the ground. 
Young Elden's grave stone provides the next sighting
of a discarded exuvia with an adult form above.
For several hours this insect paused
as blood pumped and its body transformed.
Contrasted against the pastel colors it once donned,
vivid camouflage will serve it well in tree tops.
Golden veins upon the elder's wings
fill my soul with admiration.
I'm forced to stand guard and dote 
for at last the ascension begins.
I suddenly realize all who enter here
must rise toward the heavens or at least the tree tops.
One muscular foot in front, five others follow,
all part of instinct beyond my understanding.
No other is there to offer guidance or to mimic,
it's all pure instilled knowledge from beginning to end.
With the summit now a certainty, 
I take time to quickly note intricate patterns.
Upon the upper thorax I see
the face of an owl bedecked in bow tie.
It is not for me to know when tented wings
will spread into flight and off he'll go. 
Without notice, a quick flap,
and he disappears into tree tops thither.
A few more hours must pass
before the younger insect can fly off likewise. 
New adventures await filled with raspy love songs
meant to continue the cycle of life.
On this summer day, hollow cast(ket)s left behind
provide a memory of vulnerable forms.
From soft pastel bodies to wide-faced creatures with bulging eyes,
I get to celebrate cemetery cicadas. 

Default: This is a work in progress. I’ve written a bunch of drafts, but it’s not quite there yet, so dear reader, you may see a revision at a later date.

Katydid, Didn’t She?

I have the extreme pleasure of being in touch with my first two playmates, the sisters who lived next door, on a somewhat regular basis. And even when we don’t see each other for a long time (Girls, we still owe ourselves a lunch in Newburyport), like any great friendship, we pick right up as if no time has passed.

While they both love the natural world, for that’s where we spent much of our childhood, one in particular frequently shares photos of her finds with me. And so I took her along, riding on my shoulder this morning when I headed out into the rain because I know that she, too, likes rainy days as much as, if not more than sunny days. So does her garden and she’s got a green thumb to envy.

Since my thumbs aren’t great at turning the soil, I support a local farmers’ market and had time to pass waiting for my turn to pick up the pre-ordered produce, bread, chicken, flowers, and treats. Thus, as we started to hike, a grasshopper known for its two stripes greeted us.

Not far along, at the base of a certain pine tree, I showed her the Pippsissewa now in bloom. Not only do I love to say this plant’s name, but the blossoms . . .

oh my. We both squatted for a closer look at the anthers within. And sniffed its sweet scent.

Our next great find was an oak apple gall and of course I had to tell her that a non-stinging and wingless female wasp injected an egg into the veins of the leaf as it was just beginning to grow. Chemicals released by the tiny larvae that developed within altered the growth and over a few weeks, the little orb formed.

By the circle hole on the underside, I explained that the wasp had pupated and chewed its way out and was probably now feeding on the very roots of the same tree . . . that is if it hadn’t been consumed by birds or small mammals.

We moved on, but a tiny spot of brown on a berry leaf was the next to beg for our attention. Check out those toes. Sticky toe pads on their webbed feet provide support for these plant and tree climbers known as spring peepers.

At last we reached a wetland and that’s when the rain really began to fall. And so my friend and I . . . we stood and looked about and enjoyed the raindrops on the grasses and sedges, the water’s surface, and us.

For a while, we left the path, and slipped into the woods, trying to follow a recently created trail, but mostly meandering about in the land where nurse logs provide a start for so many others as they decompose.

As it turned out, that wasn’t the only nursery in town. Once we returned to the trail, which by the way, she was impressed that I could find my way back . . . and so was I, I took her to a nearby meadow where we spotted a momma tending her young’uns.

I knew my friend would love this sighting because she not only saves salamanders and deer, but also spiders from any demise. This momma wasn’t so sure about us, however.

As large as she was, we were even bigger so she continued to work on her web to make sure her children stayed safe.

When she wasn’t looking, we did peek inside and saw a few of the babies.

We spotted another spider of a much more diminutive size upon one of the meadow flowers. You might see it, though it is a master of camouflage. Two insects also hung out as if they were trying to stay dry. Though the beetle is quite obvious, a discerning eye will spy the legs of the other.

We had actually gone to the meadow to see the Canada lilies that tickled our fancy for they looked like streetlights in the midst of the rain drops.

All of our finds had been great, but the best one of all . . . a Katydid. My friend’s name is Kate or as she was known when we were kids: Katy. And when quizzed by our moms about who was responsible for something, the rest of us always said, “Katy did it.”

While standing in the meadow today with Kate on my shoulders, my cell phone rang and suddenly I was looking at . . . my dear friend via FaceTime.

“Did I call you, or did you call me?” I asked as I looked at her beautiful and familiar grin while she stood aboard her cabin cruiser on Long Island Sound.

“You tried to Face Time me twice and so I called you back,” she said as she looked a me–soaking wet and rather bedraggled but happy (except maybe for the mosquitoes and deer flies).

I’d been using my phone to snap most of the photos but kept putting it in my pocket and I think I may have inadvertently contacted a few people.

So maybe this one time I did it and not Katy, but forever when I see a Katydid and many other things in the natural world, she’ll be right there with me as we were so many moons ago–Katy got me then and thankfully she still does.

Summer by Nature

Given the fact that the day the spring issue of Lake Living was to be distributed to stores and other businesses throughout the lakes region of Maine was the day the state shut down because of COVID-19, thus meaning Laurie LaMountain had box loads sitting around with no where to go but her garage, and many businesses had completely shuttered their doors and windows and those that stayed open were serving a limited number of customers and didn’t necessarily want magazines, we weren’t sure there would be enough advertising dollars to produce a summer issue.

By the same token, we both felt it was our duty to produce a summer issue. And so we did. It did not come out on June 20th, as would have been the case in the past, but suddenly that didn’t matter. It’s not as long as prior summer editions, but suddenly that didn’t matter. The three to four page calendar spread is missing, because, um, not a whole lot is going on, but suddenly that didn’t matter.

As happens more often than not, a theme emerged. Laurie addressed it in her Editor’s Notes. I’ll just say this: Take your time. And notice.

Be sure to check out the book reviews from Bridgton Books and picnic recipes. Plus read about some wicked cool fish food, Lake Environmental Association’s history, and a few local businesses that are employee owned.

I was given the good fortune to write about my passion for the world beyond doors and windows, which allowed me to weave a bunch of ideas together in a ramble of sorts.

I also wrote about a woman who can take a slab of wood and turn it into a three-dimensional piece of art. Sue Holland’s work is incredibly intricate and always tells a story.

I can’t help but smile every time I look at the cover of this issue. Sports Illustrated move over!

We’ve even got a centerfold you might want to hang on a wall!

This issue of Lake Living is about summer by nature. Pour a cup of tea or glass of wine, click on the link and enjoy the articles: Lake Living Summer 2020

Castle Rock Mondate

Please bare with me as my guy did today. I kept telling him he was living in a fairy tale. Heck, his ancestors are Irish, so he should believe in fairies and tales the way I do. Right? Maybe.

Our hike began with a climb up the stairs to the fortified building above where we intended to retreat for the day. Certainly we wouldn’t have to worry about any invasions from such a stance.

Almost instantly, we were greeted by a court jester hovering in the hallway. Do you see him? My guy certainly did and I ensured him that there would be no sting from the jokes of this little flying one.

The jester added one command at the end of his greeting–bring a bouquet to the queen. And so we looked about. St. Johnswort with all its yellowy rays would add a note of sunshine to her day and we knew it was meant to be given since the sweat bee who pollinated the flowers wore metallic green gems. There’s another hiding in this part of the bouquet. Do you see him?

The bee flew off, its pollen sacs full, but the other who hid among the petals remained. We picked the flowers anyway because bouquets that come from the field always have hitchhikers who enhance the scene.

No bouquet is complete, just as no room is complete, without a dash of red, this time provided by the fruits of a Mountain Ash tree.

A dash of green in the form of Smooth Solomon’s Seal’s fruit finished off the arrangement and we were sure the good queen would appreciate our efforts to bring a gift.

Continuing our upward climb, we suddenly spotted one of the inner chambers. He passed by.

I paused and looked upward at the spiral staircase that climbed into the turret. It was full of old tapestries and even a few cobwebs.

The staircase led us to a side window upon the kingdom’s view.

I think my guy secretly coveted the vista owned by the royal family, but he kept his envy to himself because after all, we wanted to be considerate guests.

At last, after many flights of steps, we reached a view of the castle’s entryway.

In the Hall of Statues, generations upon generations of aristocracy were represented in stone.

Each family showed off their stalwart idiosyncrasies.

At last we reached the dining hall. It was there we sat to eat the Croque Monsieur Ham and Cheese Sandwiches offered to us.

Once finished with a tasty repast, King Red-breasted Nuthatch greeted us and encouraged my guy to again look outward at the empire beyond.

To which my guy did, keeping his envy under his baseball hat.

The view included Mount Washington in the distance, with snow still on its ravines and buildings slightly highlighted at its summit.

King Nuthatch then looked down for he knew his love was by our feet.

And so Queen Fritillary was, her eyes also focused on the kingdom beyond.

As we hiked down we noticed that the good queen stored her slippers everywhere. You never know when you might need a pair of moccasins.

At last we crossed the drawbridge over the moat and bid farewell to our royal hosts.

As we exited Castle Rock on this Mondate, Princess Banded Hairstreak, with her colors all browns and oranges and blues, bid us adieu. We said the same and gave great thanks for today’s royal treatment.

Does my guy believe he was living the fairy tale after all? Maybe.

Pond Friends

My day began with an exploration of the edge. The edge of a favorite place I hadn’t explored much lately. And so it was to old pals that I had a chance to say hello.

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The first was so old that it almost wasn’t. Okay, so that makes no sense, but it was no longer the Fishing Spider it had once been . . . and since become. Rather, it was the exuviae of the spider–a shed skin dangling by the water’s edge.

Much tinier by comparison was a Jumping Spider, its spotted patterned-body contrasted in size upon the Bracken Fern leaflet upon which it quickly moved.

In the same space Northern Bluet damselflies graced the landscape and I realized I need to give them more notice for they are as important as their dragon cousins I spend much of my summertime focusing upon.

And so . . . I present to you another old friend, a male Eastern Forktail. This is one of my favorites for I love the contrasting coloration with bright greens and blues offset by black.

Among the Brackens another did fly . . . and land. This Flesh Fly is known not only for its red eyes, but also its red “tail” or butt.

Speaking of red, by mid-afternoon, my guy and I headed off in the tandem kayak as the sky darkened.

After making the acquaintance of a daughter and son-in-law of an old friend and recalling the tornado we all survived three years ago and sharing favorite spots on the pond, we paused ever so briefly by an active beaver lodge. Do you see the fresh mud? Don’t let that and the ripples in the water lead you to believe that the beavers came out to greet us.

I was with my guy, remember, and he has a need to be as active as the rodents within. Oh, the mud wasn’t his doing, but the ripples were.

The beavers present activity was, however, noted by the Spadderdock roots floating upon the surface of the pond. That’s a carbon-loading beaver treat.

A treat for my eyes is always a turtle sighting and though this painted one seemed to be surfing, as I explained in my ever-knowledgeable way to my guy, it was basking in the sun as a means to absorb the UV rays of the sun. He was sure it was just preparing to slip back into the water and as we approached it of course did so, thus proving him right. Um, but I was as well.

All the friends I’ve mentioned till now we’ve met before. And actually, I’ve had the privilege of meeting this last one once before, but sometimes it’s the second meeting that drives the characteristics home.

I mean, seriously, how many times have you met someone for the first time and forgotten their name? But upon that second meeting you focus on how their nose sticks out further and they have such a dark shell and a line of yellow dots under their double chin and they hang out in the shade more than the sun and you realize you do remember them: Common Musk Turtle.

I love my pond friends who are my best friends, whether we met for the first time or again and again and again.

Oh Wing-ed Ones

The power of flight. The agility of fliers. Both are key.

But to truly key in, one needs to notice the idiosyncrasies of the wings and other body parts. Consider the yellow stigma on this dragonfly’s wings, a color which matches the hearts on its abdomen.

But for me, the most outstanding part of the Calico Pennant are the stained glass patches at the base of its wings–yellow for a female and red for a male.

Then there’s one whom I first met a couple of weeks ago. By its oreo cookie face I recognized it upon our second encounter today. This Stream Cruiser’s wings certainly don’t define it.

But other attributes do, such as the green eyes of this mature being and his yellowish claspers.

Did you notice he’s on my finger? I was rather surprised and you know . . . delighted.

As I moved along, I spied another who knows how to fly through the air.

Its dark wings hardly seem capable of carrying its long body, but they do. Even more notable, however, are the long segmented antennae.

This is an Ichneumon Wasp, known not as one to sting us, but rather for its parasitic larvae that feed on or inside another insect host species until it dies.

For the Common (there’s that word again) Sanddragon dragonfly, the stand-out feature is the yellow abdominal appendages on both male and female. To tell one sex from the other, the eyes need to be considered. The female has brown eyes, while the male, such as this one, sees the world of its prey through yellow-green lenses.

Hoverflies are also part of the landscape, behaving in their typical manner by hovering mid-air in the middle of trail, until one lands on a hemlock twig and shows off not only its veined wings, but also giant eyes, the better to spy a tiny prey.

Nearby, a Robber Fly lands on the bud of a Pipsissewa flower, waiting as its species does for a chance to pounce upon a dinner of choice.

In the midst of it all, a delicate Northern Pearly-eye Butterfly graces the scene.

So many differences. And yet they all can fly despite the size of their head, thorax and abdomen.

Oh Wing-ed Ones.

May those who share this day with you be honored with similar attributes including power, agility, and idiosyncrasies all their own.

Happy Birthday Carissa, Pam, and Hannah.